A Lonely Christmas, Times Two
by TraceZBullet
Summary: Once again, Al finds himself alone, a year later.  And this time, so does Gil. A sister fic to A Lonely Coroner's Christmas


**A/N: Hey guys, remember me? The holiday DillyBob author strikes again! Ahahahah! This is part two, year two, of "A Lonely Coroner's Christmas." Enjoy muchly, because you probably won't get another for another year. Happy Holidays and this is totally a joke so don't take it too seriously. GSR forever!**

**Oh yeah, and I don't have a beta for this so all mistakes are mine! (They're mine, all mine muahahha)**

**A Lonely Christmas, Times Two**

Once again, it was that time. The time Al Robbins hated more than anything. It was the holiday season. This fact was, of course, fairly obvious and a bit of a running joke among the CSIs. The other day, he could swear, as he pushed a gurney back into the freezer, grumbling about the holiday music Greg had insisted on blasting through the intercom, David had muttered "Scrooge" as he passed. The thing was, as Al limped back down the empty hall, this year had been a roller coaster. 

In the past few months, Grissom and Sara had become "official" to everyone in the lab. The couple, to Al's horror, had gotten engaged. The coroner remembered the engagement party with a shudder. He had bought them a coffee maker-- not because he wanted to help them furnish their new kitchen, but because he wanted Gil to remember their secret evening coffee breaks when everyone else in the lab had gone home. The whole evening had been disastrous. Sara had simpered at Gil's side while Al seethed, ignored, at the other end of the table. 

And then Sara had left. Without, as far as the gossip went, anything more than a "Dear John" letter. Al was, of course, there to comfort him over cups of steaming liquid and endless hours of tedious paperwork. That was where the roller coaster part came in. Because, through these late night conversations, things seemed to change between the two men. All they needed was a look, a glance as they shared a conversation with the other CSIs, to communicate what they were thinking. Al could almost swear Gil was starting to feel something.

There was this way when they walked down the hall together and their hands would brush, seemingly by innocent accident. But Gil never moved away to keep it from happening. He had to feel the flutter, hear the thundering of Al's heart. Surely he did? But they never really discussed their friendship. If they did, it was in conversations full of two meanings, one about other people. "I heard Nick is getting pretty jealous of Warrick. He just really hates seeing them flirt together. He thought they had something special," the coroner found himself saying. He realized it had turned into his jealousy of Sara. Gil had raised an eyebrow in that way he did and disappeared.

So, once more, Al was alone in his office. The room was quiet and as dead and cold as the bodies next door. He could still hear "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas" faintly. So far, it hadn't been that jolly. Gil was obviously unhappy and that made Al unhappy. The doors swished open. He looked up, hoping to meet Gil's blue-grey eyes. No. It was Sara. "What are you doing here?" he asked, eyebrows raised in surprise and struggling to keep the accusatory tone out of his deep voice. 

"I came back here to get my stuff out of the office and the house. I brought this," she said and held up a bag. Inside was the box containing the coffee maker. Al grimaced in some imitation of a smile. Shooting him a strange look he couldn't decipher, Sara left it on his desk and turned to go without a further word.

"Sara," Al said softly. The woman turned, a pained look on her pretty features. "Good luck." She nodded. He wasn't really sure what had made him say it; he didn't really mean it. In some twisted way, he was glad her relationship with Grissom was over, if just for now. Anything that meant he could spend more time with Gil, if only to console him, was a good thing.

He was alone again. Quietly, as if afraid he would wake the sleeping bodies in the morgue, he opened the box, just to see if it had even been used. The note he had left inside it, the note he had written to Gil a month ago, lay undisturbed and taped to the top of the appliance. _Dear Gil,_ it said, _I hope giving you this means you'll return all those cups of coffee you owe me. Cheers, Al. _Al Robbins had agonized over those twenty-one words for several hours before writing them. What if Gil took the joking tone wrong? What if he felt obligated to pay Al back? But the what ifs had been in vain for the man they were written to hadn't even seen them.

Sara's gaze flashed in his memory, suddenly. Had she read them? Had she realized his secret? Was Al the reason she was leaving? Was she trying to escape because she thought her fiancé was having a gay affair with another coworker. 

Gil had ruined his marriage, if inadvertently. Had Al just done the same thing? 

The coroner returned to his paperwork, unable to concentrate, unable to see straight. It was as if the little empty boxes were dancing, taunting, on the page. And then Gil arrived, looking haggard, broken. The breakup, if that was what it could be called, had shattered his optimism and stolen his happiness. He was no longer cheery. He never made jokes over dead bodies any more. The CSI took a breath and let it out slowly before speaking. "Hey Al." 

"Gil." He couldn't think of anything. 

Gil looked curiously at the box on his desk and comprehension dawned on him. "Was Sara here?"

"She didn't come speak to you?"

Gil's look answered for him. He was crushed all over again; his large blue eyes swam with unshed sadness.

"I'm sorry," Al said awkwardly. _I'm also sorry you're not mine._


End file.
